


prayers

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Anal Fingering, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Bruises, Choking, Cock Rings, Collars, Danger Kink, Dubious Consent, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fivesome - F/F/M/M/M, Gags, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, No Aftercare, No Incest, Orgasm Denial, Sex Toys, dave is a hopeless bisexual with a danger kink, dave needs to calm his sub ass down, just the way dave likes it, mild choking, sorry y'all, the crocker kids are sharing dave no incest here, well technically it's more of a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-05-29 07:00:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15067706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: a hunter walks into a bara hunter goes for a jog in the parka hunter tries chilling out at a coffee shopa hunter goes a fancy party and gets lowkey kidnapped but in a cool and hip wayyou're pretty sure that this is a running joke, and that you're the butt of itunfortunately the punchline's gearing up to be much, much, worse





	1. exposition and introductions

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TriadicUniverse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriadicUniverse/gifts).



> Demonstuck AU where the Prospit kids are siblings, children of the infamous Betty Crocker, and Dave is their favorite human plaything. Maybe the Strider clan is full of infamous demon hunters, and Dave is captured as leverage against them. Maybe Crocker's spawn just think he's pretty and wanted him for themselves.
> 
> Dave can be as willing or unwilling as you choose, but I like to think he's at least sort of into it. Feel free also to make the demons as dangerous or as friendly as you choose, so long as there's no gore.

The name "Betty Crocker" elicits a wide range of responses, whenever it is said, most of which can be boiled down into two categories. First, the quintessential: "Oh, like the cakes?", and second, "That damn bitch." If your response is of the first category, good for you. Your life is relatively normal, and you should probably strive to keep it that way.

If your response is of the second—my condolences.

 

We begin our tale with a man who fell squarely into the second category before he could even properly speak.

 

* * *

 

Dave Strider is a demon hunter, from a long line of demon hunters, like all of his demon hunting ancestors before him. The Strider Clan, as they were known—or alternatively, those damn blond bastards—were infamous in the worlds of demons and hunters alike, for their ruthless tactics, killer instincts, relentless ways, and their tendency to tap dance along the boundary of "the dark side".

Demons feared them, other hunters cautiously respected them, and both sides acknowledged that they got the job done.

This status got them attention, of course. At first, a jealous few said it was undeserved. Were they really  _that_ great? After all, there was nothing  _really_ special about them. When the Crocker Clan showed the demon hunting world  _just_ what that attention meant, though, people shut up quick.

 

* * *

  

That ought to be enough on the Striders. Now back to our hero...

 

* * *

  

You're good at your job, as much as you hate it.

"It's like those shows about part-time superheroes, only everyone I care about already knows my secret identity and it never  _stops_ being shitty," you'd said once, sitting around your dorm room with all the other kids—cousins—in your generational cohort. Slim pickings, your set: you, your older brother Dirk, and your cousins from a cadet branch of the family tree, Roxy and Rose Lalonde.

In what she likely meant to be a comforting gesture, Roxy had gently laid a cat on top of your face. "At least you're already at the part where everyone knows, though," she offered.

"You need a little more time to get used to it. Then you'll be fine." You'd exchanged a glance with Rose. Out of your cohort, Dirk was the one who  _really_ seemed to have been born for the job. "Seriously. It's in our blood, our history, etcetera, etcetera, you'll get it some day."

"Sure," you'd said, and the conversation had moved on.

 

* * *

 

Of course, secrets aren't the only thing those sorts of shows had.

 

* * *

 

Usually it was easy for you to sense a demon. A lifetime of training had honed your instincts to a broken blade's unexpected edge, and the sight of any Strider entering a bar was often more than enough to send any demons scattering—which meant that gorgeous over there with the green eyes and dark hair couldn't be anything but mortal.

You grin at her, as you take the seat beside her, and she raises an eyebrow, as if questioning your interest. "Wow. The smile and stare. Works like a charm, does it?" Or your flirting abilities. That's definitely an option too.

"Oh god no, it's usually just the best way to get someone else to say something so that I can start rambling at the speed of light. Trial by fire, but without the fire. Unless it's rapping, in which case, I can humiliate myself by attempting to lay down some sick beats."

Green-Eyes laughs. "And what happens then?"

"You know, it really depends. Some people are partial to a drink to the face—"

"Always a classic."

"—but I'd argue that it's not an efficient strategy. Doesn't occupy the mouth, unless you time it right, and even then, not for very long."

"So I'm supposed to kiss you to shut you up?" She considers this for a moment, then smirks, giving  _you_  a once-over in return. "Maybe I like it a little rougher. How do you feel about gags?"

"Ooh, I'm sorry, the  _correct_ answer was 'food', but considering that the remaining functioning brain cell I have is going 'yes,  _please_ '—"

"Harley." Oh shit, it's the cops. You hadn't even noticed Dirk's arrival—a testament to Green-Eyes' charm—but right now your older brother looks ready to gut someone. That's a big fuckin' bouquet of oopsy daisies you'll be buyin', even if you haven't a goddamn clue what you'll be writing on the card. "Dave. It's time to go."

"Aw, c'mon, Dirk! I'd give him back in one piece!" Wait, she knows your brother? That would make her "Harley", but that wouldn't explain how angry he was—"Mostly."

Fuck, even distracted you'd seen it coming, and even seeing it coming, it was  _still_ hot.

"You wouldn't, and he's not playing any of your twisted little games today." He pauses, and looks very deliberately at you. "I don't believe you've met Miss Jade Harley Crocker."

Oh. Fuck.

Several things suddenly snap into place as Green-Eyes—Jade—gives you a little wave. "Shit, dude. We're gonna be late for your thing."

"Uh huh," Dirk says, and wraps an arm around your shoulders, guiding you firmly out of the bar. You're pretty sure this place just got fucking blacklisted. Whoops.

 

A block away, he stops, and lets you go. When you open your mouth to apologize, he holds out a hand, and you shut up immediately. "Look. You're not in trouble."

"Are you—"

"No, I'm not going to tell anyone." Dirk pauses, runs a hand through his hair. "They're not like normal demons, okay? You won't be able to sense them they way you usually do, they'll seem...human."

Another pause. A bitter laugh.

"They're  _really_ good at seeming."

Underneath his words, you can sense a story. Fortunately, you also have the good sense to know that you really,  _really_ , shouldn't ask.

"Be careful. Okay?"

"Okay."

 

* * *

 

See what I mean? Evil love interests, very bog-standard. Then again, Dave might be a little too trope savvy to fall for that, and green is  _far_ from being his only color...

 

* * *

 

The local park was Roxy's favorite place to test out new tech. A competent hunter in her own right, your cousin had found her real calling in her apprenticeship to the quartermaster, and her work with the Armory, a more science and tech branch of the family.

Helping her test out her latest gadgets was probably one of the least shitty parts of your shitty job, and you'd readily agreed to help out with this latest piece of tech. Reaching up to adjust your shades, you discreetly turn on their video and audio function. "How's that, Rox?" Your voice is soft, barely a whisper—you've learned by now not to underestimate her skills.

"Perfect! Now go for a stroll, I want to work on some of the ambient noise bugs. And find mama some cute kitties to look at!"

"It's a park, Roxy. Not exactly cat central."

On the other end of the communication device, frantic typing kicks up, and he nearly jumps at the triumphant little  _ding_ _!_

"Chestnut Park is a popular place to leash train cats, and is home to no less than  _three_ cat colonies. Get searching, baby cuz."

You groan, at the news as much as her newest order, before starting off down the nearest trail. "Close the adoption sites, Rox."

Silence.

More tapping.

"Rox."

"You have no proof, and you're never going to find any."

"Uh huh."

 

About a quarter mile of walking trail and ten cat profiles (read out loud to you, no less) later, a cute jogger cuts across your path.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," you hiss furiously at her, before she says something to shake your confidence.

"Hey there!" Dark tousled hair, eyes sapphire blue enough to be in one of Rose's fanfictions, toned and tanned muscles with a near perfect smile (and really, the imperfections just made it cuter)—everything about this guy was, to put it in those same fanfiction terms, swoon-worthy.

"Uh, hey—"

"No. Turn right around and walk the other way, but also, don't let him out of your sight. Right now, David Elizabeth Strider." That has to be the most serious you've ever heard Roxy, and you pause.

Something Cute Jogger definitely notices. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah, fine, I—"

"Dave." Not even a joke? Shit. "That's John Egbert."

Fucking  _hell_.

John's smile is even more perfect—alluring, enticing—when it spreads, turns just a little bit cruel. "Way to give out spoilers, Roxy?"

"You can hear her?" Fuck, fuck, okay, this was definitely bad.

"Of course I can, Dave!" John laughs, and you try to ignore the way his lips look wrapped around your name. "Before you ask all the  _boring_ questions, yes, I know who she is, who you are—in fact, we know who all of you are! Way better than  _you_ seem to know  _us_."

"They didn't get to those flashcards yet," you manage, one of your lamest retorts to date, which is  _really_ saying something.

John laughs again, so cheerfully that you have to fight the urge to join in. "Explains a lot! Jade was wondering why you didn't recognize her. She sure recognized  _you_."

 _Jade told him about me? Wait. Shit. No. Focus_. "Well shit, good to know I left a decent first impression."

"Trust me, Dave," says John, still grinning. "You're unforgettable."

A little shiver runs down your spine, and it's only half fear of the predatory look John's giving you right now.

"Hey Roxy! You can call off the hit squads, I'm not going to do anything. I have a run to finish!" He's raised his voice just slightly, a nice little reminder that he can hear everything they've said, and you're pretty damn sure he's just doing it to mock Roxy. Your eyes narrow on this jackass—until John gives you a smile that goes straight to your pants. "Be seeing you, Dave."

A conveniently timed pack of joggers comes up the path, and by the time they pass, both you and John are long gone.

 

* * *

 

The plot thickens, old acquaintances and old wounds come to light, so on and so forth, ad infinitum.

 

* * *

 

When you meet Jake, you're not alone to begin with, for once.

 

The quiet little coffee shop is Rose's favorite sort of place, and if you were forced to it, maybe at gunpoint, you might admit that you enjoy the quiet. Across from you, Rose shuffles her deck of tarot cards to deal out a new spread. At the first soft  _flick_ of card against wood, and Rose's following "Hmm," you look up from your laptop.

"What?"

"Page of cups," she replies, and flips the next card, one you recognize easily. "And the devil."

"Freeing the once-inhibited?"

"It's upright—addiction, or self-imposed restraints."

"Oh, right." You glance at the other card, as Rose pulls a third—it's facing you, reversed for her, and years of your cousin's lessons supply you with a meaning automatically: Upright; a messenger, creative beginnings. The synchronization so often sought by hunters. Reversed; emotional immaturity, the kind of mental block that could get someone killed.

Someone leans over your shoulder, and you tense up even more than Rose. "Two of cups! Love, romance, attraction...not bad at all, Dave, not bad at all."

That voice, the way he knows your name—when you turn to look at the newcomer, you know, even without having _his_ name, that this is another Crocker kid. And when you see him, you know for sure, that this is Dirk's untold story.

Rose is unflappably cool, or so it seems. She gives the newcomer a smile, and neatly folds the spread back into her deck. "Perhaps the reading wasn't meant for him, Jake English."

"Or perhaps you have more of your family's gifts than anyone ever thought? Wouldn't that be absolutely  _exhilarating?_ _"_ Jake takes a seat on the couch, far too close for your comfort.

At least. It should have been far too close for you to be comfortable.

"Do me next," says Jake, but he's looking you dead in the eyes as he says it.

Shitfuck.

 

Rose pulls a single card from the deck in responses. The angle means that you can't see it, but whatever it is, it makes Jake go pale. When she flicks her wrist, fanning the one card out into several, he sneers at her and shoves off of the couch. "Keep better company, Dave," he says, and when you blink, he's gone.

 

* * *

  

Two and Two: Eyes of Green and Eyes of Blue

 

* * *

 

By now, you were almost expecting this shit. You'd only met three of them, after all, of-fucking-course there'd still be one to go.

But knowing she's coming doesn't make Jane Crocker any easier. Not when you know your family got you out of the last three scrapes. Not when you know you're out of siblings and cousins to save the day. Hell, you're not even exactly sure how the two of you met, not even when you recount the story, over and over and over, under the well-meaning questions of your clan.

All you know is this: One minute you were at a job at a fancy party, one that required you to be both discreet and dressy. The next, you were dancing with one of the hottest women you'd ever seen, and you were already caught up in her clear blue eyes, by the time you realized who she was.

And between blinks, everything changed.


	2. where it all begins

_Between blinks, everything changed._

Right now was the closest you'd had to awareness in a long damn time. Dim memories drifted in and out of your mind's eye as you tried to piece together everything that had happened: the party, the dancing, the Crockers—

— _snap_.

 

For a moment, you wonder if it's the sound of everything snapping into place. A bone breaking. Then you hear another little snap and look up to see Jade Harley Crocker enjoying some delicious looking...what were those, pickled carrots?  _Crunch_.

Okay. That was almost cute.

If it weren't for the fact that they'd fucking  _kidnapped_  you.

"I'd like some answers," you start to say, and try to ignore the fact that the only thing that comes out is a croak, far more reminiscent of the crows that liked to follow you around. (You didn't care what Bro had said. You  _liked_  them, they were smart as hell, and they made better damn spies than anyone else the clan could find.)

(Also? They had bombass taste in breadcrumbs and random crap.)

 

A sweet laugh cuts through the air, and most of your senses as well. You try not to go red, and fail miserably, as Jane Crocker herself sits down on the—luxurious, plush, decadent—scarlet red bed, right next to where you're sprawled out. She holds a cup of water up to your lips, and it's about all you can do not to pop a boner for her right then and there. Goddammit.

"It's not kidnapping if you ask us to bring you back here, Dave," she informs you, and a few more blurry memories flicker back to life as she helps you rehydrate. Fuck.

"It's not me actually asking you if I've been hit with some mental, physical, or emotional whammy," you retort, ignoring the fact that you  _know_  yourself, your body, and everything else that your training—look, you  _know_  they didn't do shit all to you, but you're not going to fucking  _say_  that.

Another laugh draws your attention—what the fuck is  _with_  these kids, who the fuck sounds that sexy when they  _laugh_ —and you look up to see Jake English Crocker, sprawled out across a lounge, made up in what looks to be a similar material to whatever the fuck you're lying on. You'll give them this much, they sure know how to keep an aesthetic together. "Settle down, Mr. Strider! You're perfectly free to leave whenever you wish to. No one's going to keep you here against your will!"

Fuck. That's almost worse. You  _know_  that means they're thinking you're not going to want to leave. You  _know_  that means they're pretty sure they think that whatever you're wanting, or thinking, or feeling, is going to keep you here.

 

Even worse? You know they're right.

 

"Cool, okay. I'd like to go right now then." You shift up to sitting, somehow, and Jane pulls back, still smiling. Three of them, which means one to go—

John Egbert Crocker offers you a hand up from the bed, and you note the calluses he's got left behind. "Not really fitting for one of the heirs to a baking empire," you mumble, before you realize you're actually speaking to him, out loud, with your voice. Fuck.

He grins at you, and steps back once you're standing up. "What can I say? I prefer being hands on." You go redder. His grin goes wider.

This? This is the fucking worst.

 

At least, you're sure it is, until you make it all the way to the door and none of them have moved to stop you.

"So, uh," you say, paused at the door, and waiting for something—some last minute reason you absolutely  _can't_  go, some excuse, something they'll conjure up or manufacture to keep you here. "Bye?"

Jane gives you a cheerful little wave, Jade salutes you with a carrot, John flashes a grin, and, well, you're not even sure you want to know where or how Jake English picked up so much weird slang, but you're not going to ask.

Your suit is on you, and it looks fine, if rumpled. You're upright and mobile, for all that you were sprawled out immobile on that bed—Jane's, you think—just a few moments ago. They don't seem to have any reason to keep you here. You don't seem to have any reason to stay.

 _Unless you said you wanted to_ , a traitorous little thought reminds you.

 

The door slams shut behind you, and you don't look back.


	3. diverted courses

You spend the next few days feeling...hunted.

It's all the worse for the fact that you know, absolutely,  _definitively_  know, that none of the Crocker siblings are anywhere  _near_  you.

For one, Dirk and Roxy and Rose don't seem likely to let you out of their sight any time soon.

For two, you've seen them.

 

Not in person, no—but they've been unusually active in the media, making posts on company Instagrams and Facebooks and Tumblrs and Snapchats, helping their Batterbitch of a...whatever, get the company name out, build the brand.

And they hadn't even been in the same goddamn state.

You absolutely know why this is upsetting you so much, but you really,  _really_ , don't want to think about it.

 

Dirk's idea to bring you out of a funk involves a sparring court, extra training, and kicking your ass until you can't actually move. It works, for all of two days. On the third, you start wondering about sparring against John. He used a hammer, you were pretty sure, and there was no way you'd get taken down by that. Unless. Maybe his strength, the bulk of his body—you could  _imagine_  him gaining an edge. Keeping it. Pinning you down. Making you—

Fuck. Fuck, fuck,  _fuck_.

 

Rose took over next. Knitting worked for all of a week, because it was novel enough to distract you, to keep your mind off of everything, to be something you sucked at  _so completely_  that you had to give it all your focus. She promised you that you would eventually find your rhythm, but you'd been trying to put that off as long as possible. You knew yourself well enough to know that the minute you had the hang of this, you'd be freeing up brain space for thoughts you desperately did not want to have.

One week. One week of quiet, calm, and peace in your own head.

And then you'd gotten the hang of it, and you'd scrapped your three in-progress knitting playlists and headed over to find something else to do before you could further contemplate how fucking  _cute_  Jade would look in the scarf you'd just finished.

 

Roxy ends up being a sporadic solution. Her new gear is ready in shifts and waves, nothing ever comes all at once, it's rarely for long enough to keep your focus more than a day or two tops, an hour minimum. You willingly agree to every test she puts you through, until you think, for a moment, about  _Jane_  being the one to put you through your paces, and it's back to square one all over again.

 

Out of all four of the Crockers, you think that Jake is probably the most eager to be on social media. Jane knows how to work her angles, and look pretty for the camera, but Jake is always smiling in his pictures, blurry or out of focus though they might be. You've noticed that he's also usually the camera guy for the other three—at least in terms of candids—and that his shots come out more  _lively_  than any of the mass-produced Crocker media.

You try not to think about taking pictures with him. Or letting him borrow your cameras. Or seeing the setup he has.

The minute you picture him saying something stupid to make you laugh before taking a picture of you, you log out of every social media account you own, scramble the passwords, pack up your camera, and try to go to sleep. They've invaded your thoughts, they've invaded your dreams, and now they're even invading one of your favorite hobbies. This fucking  _sucks_.

 

* * *

 

This time when you wake, you wake up soaked in sweat.

For the past few nights, you'd been dreaming about them in the most inappropriate of ways, and that was something you could handle. Sex dreams, fighting that turned into fucking, getting a little messier in the kitchen, exploring of all sorts—sure. That was doable. That, you could handle.

Dreaming about a picnic? Jane's careful and masterful cooking, Jake dead-set on immortalizing every moment with his camera, Jade weaving together flowers with hands as suited for science as shooting, John making each one of you laugh in turn? That was untenable.

 

 

You'd packed the essentials that night, and headed out to find them.

 

* * *

 

Dirk had caught you; Dirk hadn't tried to stop you.

"They gave you a choice, didn't they?"

"Yeah. Did he?"

Your brother nods, and you tug the strap of your backpack tighter around your shoulder. "Did it help?"

"Nah. You started dreaming about them, didn't you?"

"Yeah. You—"

"Yes. The domestic shit." He doesn't quite look at you, and you wonder how many of his memories are stained with that lovely shade of deadly green. "It's what gets you in the end, even though you know it's nowhere near the truth. It's not going to be like that when you get there, Dave."

"I know." You do. You've known it since the first, since they started playing this game with you. You're the game and the game piece all in one. "I still have to go."

"I'm going to fucking kill them," he murmurs, and hauls you in for a hug. "Come back soon. Come back  _safe_."

You don't make any promises. Right now, that's the one thing you're actually scared to do.


	4. chasing traces

You start out with the places you'd seen them. The bar's your first stop, on a night like this, and you dance with half the hunters in the place and see neither hide nor hair of Crocker kid. Another hunter-adjacent guy you run into at the bar is someone you know through distant connections. He lets you crash at his place in trade for the story—he's always been curious as hell and he's never been able to shut up. You can appreciate that. All of that, in fact. "I would not feel safe giving you a key, all things considered," he warns you, and you're about to back off when he follows it up with, "but I  _am_  home every night. Just knock." It's a relief.

The next morning, you leave some of your shit with him and head to the park. He waves you off—up all night translating something for an Ampora, another legacy hunter family, and one even you wouldn't want to tangle with—with his coffee order, for whenever you get back. Right. You'd mentioned Rose's little coffee shop. Alright. You can work with that.

You strike out at the park as well, and the coffee shop has your new temporary roommate's order but neither hide nor hair of Jake English Crocker, and you're not about to go back to the goddamn ballroom they kidnapped you from. In a desperate last attempt, you unscramble your passwords (thank you, Roxy) and log back into your social media accounts.

 

"They're in DC," you mumble, sitting alone in a little coffee shop, staring at the photographic evidence of your sheer, overwhelming, stupidity.

 

They aren't thinking about you. They aren't looking for you. They aren't  _waiting_  for you.

 

Dirk was right.

 

It's time to go home.

 

* * *

 

When you get back to the apartment to pick up your stuff, the door's unlocked, your new friend's missing, and the Crocker kids lounge about on various pieces of assorted furniture like fucking lions, or some other big predatory cat that looks sexy and sleek as hell. Maybe a wolf, for Jade? Fuck. This is some furry shit that you're going to drop  _right_  now.

Of course, your first words are about as smooth as their proverbial coats are. "I thought you were supposed to be in DC."

"Well now," Jade drawls, shoving up out of her seat and sauntering over to you. "We couldn't just leaving you hanging here, now could we?"

You don't even want to think about how they got back here that fast. God, you're so fucking screwed. Dirk is going to kill them. Dirk is going to kill  _you_.

If Rose and Roxy don't do it first.

 

Jake's already got your bag slung over one shoulder, and Jane loops an arm around you to lead you out of the apartment. "Wait, what about—"

"Him? He's fine!" John steals the second coffee right out of your hands and takes a sip. "...is there any coffee in this, or is it all chocolate? Your new buddy was asleep when we got here, didn't wake up even when Jade knocked over that stack of books."

"Oh," you say, weakly, "cool."

If they're lying, you are going to feel like  _such_  a dick.

 

* * *

 

(Of course, by the time the guy wakes up and texts you back, you're a little too busy to even remember his name.)


	5. god save the sinner

The four of them lead you out to the street, just as a stretch limo pulls up. It's almost enough to make you turn tail and run, but one of them closes in behind you, and Jane leads you gracefully into the car, John piling in beside you. Jade and Jake climb in after, dropping down into seats with a careless grace you find yourself both envying and lusting after. This is going to be a long damn adventure.

 

"Should we start with introductions?" Jake. The politest one of the bunch. "We could go around the circle—"

"I am  _not_  playing any of those word association games. Our names all start with J, once you get past 'joyful' and 'jumping', there aren't any good options!" John. Grumpy, right now, but still cute about it. Somehow.

"John, dear, 'jumping' isn't an adjective." Jane. From the grumble John gives in reply, he knows she's right. Jane seems unfazed all the same. "There  _are_  other options."

"'Jumpy' might work better." Jade. Her green eyes land on you, and look you over in a way that makes you feel far more naked than you're actually comfortable with. "Or 'jealous'. 'Jinxed'."

"Jolly," you supply, a little breathless. Jane's actual hand is on your actual thigh, and she laughs.

"More like 'jumbled' if you ask me!"

Jake leans across the way, easily sinking down to his knees in front of you. You forget how to breathe. "'Jocular'," he suggests, then his eyes cut over to John. "Maybe 'jilted'?"

"I like  _'jouissance'_ ," Jade proclaims, and the rest of them roll their eyes. "Hey! There's nothing wrong with being a little cultured. Besides, it  _suits_  him."

From her tone of voice you really,  _really,_  do not want to know what that word means. "My name doesn't start with Dave—fuck, I mean, J—"

"That's because you're delicious," John purrs. "Delightful. Distracting."

They're going to fucking eat you alive.

 

* * *

 

When the limo arrives, you recognize...basically everything. You remember walking out of that building, wondering if someone other than a random employee was going to follow you out through the doors. You remember staring at it, for a moment, before you'd turned your back on them and walked away.

You remember seeing it in your dreams.

 

The Crocker kids have been chatting quietly, reading, messing with their phones, whatever struck their fancy, really. If it weren't for the way there was always at least  _one_ demon tucked right up against you, touching your side, your back, your—if it wasn't for that, you might think you were being ignored, or something.

Jane leans over you, and taps a button that makes the window slide down. "Not today, Marvin. The private residence, if you would."

"Of course, miss." The glass slides back up—Marvin must have some pretty swanky buttons on his side of things—and Jane settles back into her seat, leaving you strangely cold where all the heat of her once was.

"Damn, Jane," Jade says, from where she's sprawled out over an entire couch with a book— _Gravitation_ , or something—not even looking up at any of you. "Starting out with that, are we?"

"He  _is_  a Strider," Jane says, as if you're not right there, pressed up against her side. "How would you play it?"

Now Jade puts down the book, and gives you a look that makes you shudder, a movement that Jane, and Jake, who's traded places with John, definitely feel.  _Definitely_ feel, and probably appreciate, judging by the approving, almost animalistic noise, that Jake makes. "I'd start right here in the car. It's what he  _expected_ , after all! You saw how he reacted to getting in here. In fact, I'm pretty sure that he was disappointed when we didn't throw him down and have our wicked, wicked way with him."

Your mouth has never, ever, been this dry.

There's a moment of considering silence, where all four of them turn to look you over.

Then your head thumps against the padded comfort of the back of the limo, and you kind of lose track of everything else.

 

* * *

 

Someone—Jake, he's taller, broader, closer—hauls you into their lap and hikes your shirt up, leaning down to explore the fine contours of your neck. Listen, you've seen your own goods in the mirror, and you can appreciate a fine sight just as much as the next guy.

You think he'd probably like to claim your mouth, if it weren't for the fact that Jane already has, twisting a hand into your hair in a way that makes you think you'd like to revisit your concerns about hair pulling right now, please. And someone—someone's hands are on your knees, spreading apart your thighs.

They work like a team, a well-oiled machine, as cliché as that sounds. Jade spreads your thighs, and Jake shifts his position so that he can  _keep_  them spread, leaving the rest of you as easy access to the rest of  _them_. From what you know of them, Jane is the leader of the pack, Jake, the second eldest, as her second, with John and Jade, the twins, as terrifying threats all their own. The way they're handling you speaks to that, the part of your brain that always knows the time and never fucking shuts up thinks.

John helps strip you off, Jake and Jade lifting or moving you as needed, while Jane kisses you so thoroughly that you're hard before your dick even hits the air. When she lets you go, Jake moves in, tilting your chin up as you try to catch your breath again. That seems less and less likely to happen, with every passing second, with Jade, or John's, hand on your thigh, and John, or Jade's, hand on a much more sensitive place.

Jane's talking to someone, but you can't make out any of the words, and even if you could, you wouldn't be able to understand them. Jake kisses like he's out for a strife, leaves your lip cut open and bleeding, and when  _he_  lets you go, Jade comes in to clean up the blood, and John right after to leave you bruised.

Somewhere along the line, you lost your shirt.

And the floor was now covered in some soft-looking mattress. What the fuck.

 

They've all lost their shoes, but the fact that they're still completely dressed is a  _hell_  of a power play, and you kind of hate and love it all at once, especially when Jake shoves you forward, sends you crashing down onto a mattress that reminds you of another one they had you sprawled out on not so long ago.

You catch yourself on your hands, thanks to years of training, panting again, your knees shaking just a little bit, and someone—green-eyed Jade, gorgeous as ever—tips your chin up. She seems pleased,  _very_  pleased, as the sight of you on your knees like this, and it's all you can do not to sink to the ground in relief at her approval. "Oh, he's pretty. Look how bad he wants it!"

"I—" She doesn't let you finish. Or at least, John doesn't, looping something soft and silky around your throat and bringing you up short. You'd like to panic, but they don't let you. Before you can even register that you are not, in fact, choking, there are hands on you, over you, and you're a little too focused on trying not to whimper and moan to notice that John's tied the pretty red ribbon off around your neck.

He beams at you, and you feel another shudder of that overwhelming relief that your body keeps translating as "need". "Aw. He makes such a good pet, Jane!"

Jane strokes over your hair, and, angels damn you, you moan for her. "Touch starved little thing, isn't he?"

"We can fix that easily." Jake gently shoves your head the rest of the way down, Jane's hand still on you, leaving your ass up in the air. "Do we want him yet, or do we want to take turns with him?"

"I vote turns," says Jade, sprawled out so she's got the best possible view. "I've got plans for him that I don't want anyone  _accidentally_  destroying."

John growls, and your dick jumps. "It was  _one_  time, and I already said I was sorry!"

"Settle," says Jane, and her hand tightens in your hair for a moment. You groan, and their attention snaps back to you. "We have a guest, remember?"

"I," you start, and this time they don't jump to shut you up. "I'm cool, if y'all want to have a little battle royale real quick to get into the mood."

 

You're funny enough to make them laugh, or at least look amused, and Jane leans down to press a kiss to your spine, as Jake spreads your thighs again, Jade and John coming back to give you more attention as well.

"I vote denial!" John is a bastard, and you hate him.

"Oh  _fuck_  yes." Jade too.

Jake hums to himself, stroking over your ass in a way that makes you press back into his palms. Fuck. Okay. Maybe you're a  _little_  touch starved. Just a bit. "I'd like to see how many times he can come before he passes out. Jane?"

"Denial and edging. We can do a marathon exhaustion run when we've got the tools to take care of him properly." They're all evil. Terrible and evil. Even if that  _is_  a sensible reason not to give you literally all the orgasms.

Jake, your only defender, seems to be convinced by this—judging by the little noise of agreement he just made, and—"We'll need a cock ring, then."

"I fucking hate all of you."

You get another flurry of laughs that go  _right_  to your dick, up until Jade's clever hands run over your length and leave the world's worst invention behind in their wake. This is hell. You're dead, and in hell.

Something changes hands behind you, and you gasp at the cold feeling of lube against your entrance—and then your mouth  _stays_  open, when Jade and John push their fingers into it. "If you bite, we'll bite back," Jade warns, as Jake slowly,  _slowly_ , pushes a finger inside of you.

"If you're so worried about him biting, why don't you use a different toy?" Jane seems to be the voice of common sense here, and Jade and John look at each other, considering. You're treated to a nice view of them doing rock-paper-scissors for a prize they don't say out loud, and it only leaves you more confused when the victorious Jade pulls her fingers out of your mouth and moves away.

"I hate it when you two do that," mutters Jake, and John smirks at him.

"Jealous?"

"J-adjectives are hereby banned from the limo," says Jade, the amusement in her voice a hilarious contrast to the hungry look in her eyes. She hands John a toy, and shifts closer to the older Crockers, something in her hand—oh.  _Oh._

Whoever decided it was legal for Jade Harley Crocker to handle a sleeve should be sent to prison, for a damn long time. "Give me some of the lube," she tells Jake, and doesn't even have the grace to put it on your dick—no, it goes straight into the toy, which goes  _straight_  onto your dick.

"Here," says Jane, about something you can't see. Your only clue as to what's going on back there now, other than  _touch_ , is John. Thank fuck he's expressive, but the way his eyes go wide at whatever Jane has planned does  _not_  help.

"Damn. We're really not holding back, are we?"

"Not in the least."

Something else presses up against your ass, and for a moment, you think it's another of Jake's fingers. Then you realize that it's A, covered in a rubber, and B, much smaller than Jake's. Oh,  _fuck_.

Jane's finger pushes in right beside Jake's, and the two of them start stretching you out and working you open, as Jade fucks your swollen dick with the sleeve in her hand. If you weren't in hell, you'd probably swear this was heaven.

And if you weren't moaning like you'd never been touched in your goddamn life, you probably wouldn't be anywhere near this embarrassed.

John grins down at you, and lifts you up, partially. Your arms could not, would not, ever support you right now. Not in a million fucking years. Judging by his expression, he knows this, and he does not care.

Judging by the way he shoves another toy into your mouth, he wants to break you as badly as the rest of the Crockers, and really, you're no longer in any position to say no. He shifts forward, letting your face rest against his stomach, as he straps the toy properly into place. You're expecting him to pull back suddenly and let you drop. You're  _not_  expecting Jade to jerk you to a halt with the collar, just quick enough to keep your pretty face from crashing into the ground, holding you up for  _just_  long enough to make you choke.

 _They're all fucking sadists,_ you think, and then one of them shoves another finger inside of you and the toy in your mouth does shit-all to muffle your scream. 

"Hm," says John, frowning, like he didn't fucking anticipate this, plan for this, like it wasn't all part of some sadistic game the four of them had decided to play. "Looks like that one's not working so well. Guess we'll need to fix that!"

He picks up...something, it's small, it's black, it's connected to the gag in your mouth by some kind of tube, and before your sex-addled brain can put two and two together, he starts inflating the toy.

It expands in your mouth, and you whimper around it. Whatever their abilities and demonic skills, they seem to have an innate sense for when you  _can't_  take something, and he stops the toy  _just_  short of painful, leaving you feeling stretched thin on every end, shaking hard. John sits back to  _look_  at you, smug satisfaction in his eyes—until he realizes that he's been left with nothing to do.

 

That frown makes you want to crawl across the ground to him, and kiss everything better. You can't, of course, not with  _four_  fingers in your ass, Jade's hand and toy around your cock, and arms and legs that don't understand how to work anymore. But he's not really the sort to take things laying down, and he jerks his chin at Jade. "Trade with me."

Jade growls, and her hand tightens up just a little bit more. God. "You lost, fair and square."

For a moment, you wonder if you're about to see them fight. "He can trade with me. I'd rather preserve the moment properly, while we've got him so pretty." Jake. Jake, taking pictures of you. A shudder runs through you, and you tighten up around the fingers in you, jerk your hips a little harder into Jade's hand, to an approving purr from all four of them. God, you're so turned on. "Seems like he's into that."

Jane laughs. "Are you really that surprised? Weren't  _you_  the one who kept showing us his Instagram?"

You flush in the most embarrassing way, a whole body red. Thankfully, it just  _adds_  to the rest of the color on you, as Jake pulls his fingers out of your ass and moves off to clean them up. Jane takes advantage of his absence to unload what feels like an  _entire_  bottle of lube into you, which you're unspeakably grateful for when John arrives and shoves  _two_  fingers into you, with no forewarning and no preparation beyond what you've already gotten. Out of the three of them, his hands are definitely the biggest, and you claw at the mattress as you adjust, the stretch almost painful if it weren't for all of the other pleasure around you.

 

Then you hear the click of the camera.

"Make him do that again," Jake orders, quiet command in every syllable of his speech.

John does, and the camera clicks, again, and again, and again.

 

* * *

 

The rest of your common sense vanishes into a haze, as John and Jane stretch you open, take turns hitting your prostate and making you jerk forward into Jade's hand. At one point, Jake starts giving more orders that everyone obeys—he wants you upright, wants to see what you'd look like with claw marks down your skin, welts on your ass, bruises on your hips and thighs. He wants to see how you look when you're being choked, he wants the toy out of your mouth so the camera can see you scream.

They comply—if Jane is the leader, Jake the calmest, and John the most eager, then Jade is the most ruthless of the four. She deals out most of the pain, gripping your body so hard it purples and blues beautifully beneath her hands, shifting enough to reclaim her demon form's claws and raking them down your skin, picking up some toy and raising red lines all across your ass.

You take all of it, and the second they take the gag out of your mouth, you beg them for more.

They laugh, shove you back down, and keep toying with you like it's nothing to them.

 

The ring stays around your dick until you get to their other residence. No matter who or how you beg, they  _refuse_  to fuck you, and you soon give up actually using words to beg at all. Even when they shove vibrating toys up your ass, attach them to your cock, they  _refuse_  to let you come, determined to break you down with everything else in their arsenal before they even give you a taste of what you want.

 

* * *

 

When you get there, to their home, their own  _personal_ home, Jade scoops you into her arms like you don't weigh shit, and doesn't hide her amusement at the way you press against her body and tremble.

"Remember," says Jane, tilting your chin up, meeting your red eyes—you'd lost your shades, and you weren't getting them back—with her brilliant, blinding, sky's light blue, "you can leave whenever you want to."

They are exactly as cruel as Dirk said: you don't have a fucking prayer of making it out of here, and you're not even sure you want to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even gonna try to explain what's up with the chapter lengths because fuck if I know but I really hope you like this


End file.
